


smile

by Hugabug



Category: Descendants (2015), Descendants 2 (2017), Disney - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Middle child syndrome, Smitten Harry, she's the captain im her first mate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 12:06:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11417622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hugabug/pseuds/Hugabug
Summary: Harry doesn't smile.





	smile

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: i haven't read any of the books so there might be some inaccuracies

Harry doesn't smile.  
  
He grins, maniacally, the way his father does when the booze is just too good to not finish. He smirks the way Cj does, when she's caught somebody in her web of convuluted lies. He laughs, loudly, and with vigor, the way Harriet does when she runs someone through he rusty sword.  
  
But he doesn't smile.  
  
At least, not in public.  
  
He does in front of a mirror, late at night when he's sure nobody's watching. Fingers poke and prod at lips that stretch gently across a gentle face, and palms rub across the chiseled cut of his jaw, as if trying to mold it into the right shape. Knead it into something terrifying, intimidating. But no matter how hard he tries, he smiles and it's nothing like how his father grins, how his sisters smirk and laugh. It's soft. As soft as his blue eyes. As soft as his mousey brown hair. As soft as the memory of hiding behind his mothers skirts when the thunder got to loud.  
  
(Sometimes, he finds he can't remember the sound of her voice. But he remembers her face, the feel of her fingers threading through his hair. Her eyes as blue as the sky and her hair as brown as chestnut. She never smiled.  
  
She was soft. So very soft.)  
  
(Sometimes Harry resents her for it.  
  
Other times, he just misses her.)  
  
No, Harry doesn't smile. He's too pretty when he smiles, fragile and breakable, delicate in ways that the Isle would never accept or allow. So he saunters about, swinging his hook, Cj's swagger in his step, his father's maniacal grin spread across his face. On days his cheeks hurt, he scowls as fiercely as he can manage, stomping across the docks with all the rage he's seen Harriet carry within her. Yet no matter what he does, he can never get it right, can never get the crowds to part the way his family makes them, and on days he can't be bothered he wonders if it's because of something he's doing wrong, wrong, _wrong_ \--  
  
The turquoise haired girl in front of him scoffs. "You're such a liar."  
  
He falters. Uma doesn't turn to look at him, she keeps her eyes on the setting sun sinking below the horizon. He watches her for a moment longer, watches the power and the magic simmer deep within her inherited blood, held back by that blasted barrier. against his better judgement, he feels his bravado deflate in giddy awe.  
  
When the sun disappears and the stars come out, she turns to him.  
  
"You don't need to lie to me," she says, shaking her head. "You don't need to impress me. You've done it already."  
  
It sounds too good to be true. "Then what do you want me to do?"  
  
"I won't ask for loyalty. that isn't something you can find around here." She shrugs, and Harry follows the movement with his eyes, enamoured. "But I'll offer you a deal-- you have my back, through thick and through thin, and I won't tell anyone about your little mask."  
  
He blinks. "What mask?"  
  
Uma says nothing, smirk appearing as swiftly as her hand reaches out and lightly flicks a finger across his cheek. The gesture is sharp, the pain it causes immediate and short, but there's something gentle about it, understanding, playful. Harry breathes a sharp intake of breath.  
  
And smiles.  
  
"Aye-aye, Captain."  
  
(Later that night, he looks again in the mirror. His hair is unruly because of the sea breeze and his eyes are shining too baby blue in excitement and when he runs a hand down his face, the newly acquired bruise on his jaw is tender.  
  
But when he smiles, he smiles without abandon.  
  
And for once in his reflection, his mother doesn't gaze back at him.)  
  
(Uma's right, loyalty may not be something that is found on the isle, yet when he follows behind her, watches the whirlwind of fiery anger and power and strength shine out of her dark eyes, that command in her every step, the sharp edges that fit so well into his soft corners, he thinks he'll follow her to the very edge of the world if he has to.   
  
He is her first mate.   
  
And he is hers.)  



End file.
